The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret
by Wyvern's Elucidated Brethren
Summary: [chapter 4 up!] Nobby unintentionally finds out something about the Commander and Captain Carrot that he would otherwise have preferred to not have known... *slash*
1. 1

This is my first Discworld story and it's slash (don't like don't read), and it's angst, and it's probably not in character but hey, who cares, right?   
The credit for this goes to Jinxster, because after reading her wonderful stories I just knew I had to write a Carrot/Vimes fic. Thanks, love! :)  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, it ain't mine. The plot, such as there is, belongs to me, but that's it really. I'm innocent, guv!   
  
***  
  
Corporal Nobbs was not doing much at all. He was slouched against a handy wall in between two shops having a quiet smoke and just generally skiving. More importantly, he was waiting for Fred Colon to appear so they could slope off to the Drum for a quick bevvy or two.   
  
It had been a rather quiet day, really. An unlicensed robbery, which the Thieves Guild soon took care of, someone demanding justice against Mr Dibbler's sausages-inna-bun, and a suicide in the Shades (caused by unwise flaunting of gold on personage involved). All pretty normal, and Nobby was looking forward to a quiet drink, hopefully followed by a few very loud ones, before going home.   
  
He slinked further into the shadows as he heard two pairs of footsteps approaching. He strained his ears as the footsteps stopped, and latched on to the conversation.   
  
"Why are we here, sir?" Captain Carrot. With Commander Vimes. Nobby grinned. No doubt asking for a piece of 'fatherly' advice from the Commander, ahemahem, nudgenudgewinkwink. He leaned further forwards. This looked like a good'un, and he wanted to catch every word.   
  
"I needed to talk to you, Carrot."   
  
"We could have talked at the Yard, sir."   
  
"Please, Carrot, you know it makes me uncomfortable when you call me 'sir' when we're not at work. Anyway, the, er, thing I want to talk to you about I couldn't say at the yard. You know what those devils are like for listening in to other people's conversations, you can't even think without someone nosing in." Ah. So he was wrong. Vimes wanted to talk to Carrot, not the other way around. Even more fascinating.   
  
"Sorry, Sam. Force of habit. We could always go back to mine, if you want."   
  
"Er, no, Carrot. Um, Angua will be there, won't she? And I'm sure she already suspects something."   
  
"She couldn't suspect anything, I've been extremely careful."   
  
"Carrot, she's a werewolf, she has a knack for discovering things that ordinary people couldn't discover."   
  
"Most ordinary people couldn't discover anything if it bit them on the arse, sir."   
  
"Carrot!"   
  
"...Sam." Angua suspects something? Suspects what? Nobby edged closer to the sound of their voices. His grin grew wider. Whatever it was, it was bound to be good. Something to have a laugh with Fred over a couple of beers, maybe.   
  
A silence passed between the two officers. Nobby crept forward another inch.   
  
"So, Sam, what did you want to talk to me about?" asked Carrot.   
  
"Um, well..." The Commander was uncomfortable. Extremely uncomfortable. That was unusual. He was sometimes awkward due to his approach to his rank, often angry at someone or something or the world in general, but never actually uncomfortable. Nobby removed a dog-end from behind his ear and placed it in his mouth.   
  
"You know you can tell me anything."   
  
"I know, Carrot, it's just... well, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to say."   
  
"Come on, sir. Just tell me."   
  
"Um... you don't think what we're doing is wrong, do you?"   
  
"Wrong? How can it be wrong? It's completely natural, isn't it?"   
  
"Well, yes, but... I've got Sybil, you've got Angua, nearly everyone in this city knows me, everybody in the whole damn city knows you... Carrot, every day I'm scared to death that we're going to get found out!"   
  
"How could we get found out? We've been careful."   
  
"Damn you, Carrot! All it takes is for someone to look out of the window at the wrong time and we're deep in the shit." The Commander broke off and sighed. Nobby could hear him pacing. "And I'm scared."   
  
"Scared of what?"   
  
"Everything. Nothing. I don't know, Carrot. I really don't know anymore." Nobby struck a match during the silence that followed.   
  
"So you're breaking up with me?" There was but a single tremor in Carrot's voice that betrayed his emotion. Nobby froze, the hand with the match halfway to his mouth.   
  
"No, I'm not saying that at all, Carrot. I... damn!"   
  
"Just go ahead and say it, sir."   
  
"...Sam," corrected Vimes. He paused, and took a deep breath.   
  
"I love you, Carrot. And that's what makes everything so much more complicated."   
  
"I love you too, Sam. Come on, let's go back to mine. Angua will have gone out to see Cheery, we can talk there."   
  
Nobby stood stock-still as the footsteps echoed away, only remembering about the match in his hand when he burnt his fingers.   
  
"Bloody hell!" he swore, dropping the match and sucking his fingers. Well, well, well. Carrot and the Commander. Who'd've thought it?   
  
"Nobby?" The unmistakable sound of Fred Colon trying to be quiet echoed down the quiet street. Nobby stepped out of his hiding place.   
  
"'M here, Sarge."   
  
"Blimey, Nobby, you all right? You look as though you've seen a ghost."   
  
"Sarge, you'll never believe what I just heard..."   
  
  
~*To Be Continued*~ 


	2. 2

At last! After too long, the second chapter is here. Thank you for your patience, loves! And thanks to the following people for reviewing: AsHdOn, Damy, Dionysus, Rae Davidson, DrWorm, J.D, dreamkin, Tipsy, Cathryn, Jinxster, lately mortal, VimesLady and Xandra the Blue.  
  
***  
  
"Bloody hell!" whispered Colon.  
  
"I know," sighed Nobby. "I can't believe it! Old Stoneface."  
  
"Ssh, keep your voice down, Nobby!" They stopped talking as their drinks arrived. Nobby grabbed his glass and drained it. Colon stared gloomily at his.  
  
"'Ere, Sarge, d'you think they."  
  
"Ssh!"  
  
"I was being quiet!" Colon looked around nervously. This was Ankh-Morpork. The only way a conversation could be kept secret in Ankh-Morpork would be if it was telepathic, and even then some bugger'd be bound to listen in.  
  
"Nobby, no more talking about it, okay? Not to me, not to anyone."  
  
"But Sarge."  
  
"That's an order, Nobby."  
  
"But."  
  
"How angry d'you think Mr Vimes will be if he finds out we know?"  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Exactly. Just keep it to yourself." They stared at their glasses, each lost in their own thoughts. Behind them, an unknown person got up from a table and walked out.  
  
*  
  
Carrot and Vimes arrived back at Carrot's lodgings. There was no one in, which Vimes was grateful for. Wordlessly they climbed up the stairs to Carrot's bedroom. Carrot sat on the bed and opened his arms. The Commander stepped into Carrots embrace and breathed deeply.  
  
"It'll be okay, Sam," soothed Carrot. Vimes sighed.  
  
"I wish I could believe you, lad. It's only a matter of time before someone finds out. I mean, can you imagine how Vetinari'd react if he found out? Actually, scratch that, he probably knows already, he knows everything that happens in this bloody city before it's even happened."  
  
"That doesn't necessarily mean anyone else is going to find out," said Carrot, rubbing Vimes' back.  
  
"How long have you lived here, Carrot?"  
  
"Don't know, sir. Five, six years."  
  
"And you still believe that secrets can be kept? In Ankh-Morpork?" Vimes sighed. "I wish I could believe you, Carrot, I really do."  
  
"If. if you're that worried," began Carrot, biting his lip, "if it's that important to you, then maybe we should."  
  
"No. I don't want to give you up. Gods damn it, I love you!"  
  
"Bingley-bingley-beep!" Vimes sighed and pulled his organiser out of his pocket. "Six thirty pee em, dinner with Lady Sybil."  
  
"I've got to go," said Vimes, getting up and putting on his cloak. "Sybil's been really looking forward to this, and she needs a break, young Sam's wearing her out."  
  
"Ah yes, how is the little tyke?" grinned Carrot.  
  
"At the moment, worryingly hell-bent on becoming his old man."  
  
"Not that old, sir." Vimes grinned and moved to the door.  
  
"Wait!" Carrot got up and moved towards Vimes. He took him in his arms and kissed him deeply, making Vimes' knees go weak. He pulled away reluctantly.  
  
"I'd better go," whispered Vimes hoarsely. "See you tomorrow."  
  
"'Bye, Sam," whispered Carrot. "I love you."  
  
*  
  
In the Oblong Office, Lord Vetinari nodded and waved his informant away. The door closed, and he strode over to the window, staring out at and, unfortunately, breathing in the smells of the sprawling heap that was Ankh- Morpork by twilight.  
  
Well, well. The Captain and the Commander. Well, of course he'd had his suspicions. Young Carrot was no good at lying, and whenever Vimes' name was mentioned his face lit up. And the Commander was always so. protective of the lad. Yes, the evidence was there. It was just fortunate that most of the lads in the Watch were too stupid to see past their own noses, which had thus far meant that they hadn't suspected a thing. Sergeant Angua had been a bit of a worry, but if she had suspected anything she had kept it to herself, which was something of a relief. It would Not Do for anyone in the city to find out, especially not the guild leaders who resented Vimes enough as it is.  
  
Havelock Vetinari was not an unintelligent man. No unintelligent man could have done what Vetinari had done, organising the city, making it work, making the leaders realise that they didn't want power, all they wanted was that today was pretty much the same as yesterday and would continue to be so. Continuation was the key. And he simply could not allow anything to happen that would upset the way things worked.  
  
And now. well, it looked as though the worst-case scenario had happened. He would have to take action. It was a shame. He liked the man. But it was what had to be done, if tomorrow was going to be the same as today.  
  
Well, for most people, at least. 


	3. 3

Thank you all for being so patient. I know this has been a very long time in coming, but I got really, really stuck. A lame excuse, I know, but it's all I have. I'm sorry. Special thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter: Archer, J.D, VimesLady, Jinxster, Tipsy, Dionysus, gegr, manx, gina, sunny-historian, HannahEccles, QueenSmithy and FinchMeister.  
  
***  
  
Commander Vimes found himself in the anteroom at the Palace at nine o'clock the following morning. He had walked into his office bright and early to find Carrot waiting for him. There was nothing unusual in that; Carrot was often there before Vimes, but then he had noticed the note in his hand and the worried look in his eyes.  
  
"Message for you, sir. The Patrician demands an audience with you immediately."  
  
He had met Carrot's eyes and shivered. They both knew what Vetinari would want to talk about. Vimes closed the door and stepped into Carrot's embrace.  
  
"It'll be all right, Sam."  
  
"Gods, lad, I wish I could believe you." Vimes sighed and pulled away. "Oh well, better not keep his Lordship waiting. I'll see you later." He kissed Carrot tenderly.  
  
"I love you, Sam."  
  
"I love you too. Now, I'd better go. . ."  
  
Vimes glared at the clock. The arrhythmic tick was making him angry, and the fact that he was nervous as hell was not doing anything to improve his mood. He stood up, unable to sit any longer, and began pacing.  
  
Ten minutes later the door opened and the Patrician's secretary ushered him in. Lord Vetinari was sat at his desk, looking at some paperwork.  
  
"Ah, Vimes, do take a seat," he said, without looking up.  
  
"Sir," replied Vimes, still standing and fixing his gaze at the usual place somewhere to the left and slightly above the Patrician's head. The Patrician pushed his paperwork aside and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and staring over them at Vimes.  
  
"I presume you know why you're here."  
  
"Sir."  
  
"I take it that was a yes, Commander."  
  
"Sir."  
  
"It has come to my attention, Commander, that you and young Captain Ironfoundersson have become, shall we say, rather close of late." Vimes stared resolutely into space, saying nothing, his face a careful mask. Vetinari went on.  
  
"Now, I myself have no problems with the nature of your relationship, and would have had no worries had it been kept secret. Unfortunately, one of your Watchmen overheard a conversation between you and the Captain last night, and repeated the conversation to a friend. It would not be good if this sort of thing became common knowledge, Commander."  
  
"I will stamp down heavily on any rumours, sir."  
  
"That will not be enough, Commander. The Guild leaders despise you enough as it is. If they should find out about this, it would give them an excuse to run you out of the city."  
  
"But what can I do?" Vimes' eyes met Vetinari's cool, blue gaze for the first time. Vimes jerked as if stung. "You. . . you don't want me to. . ."  
  
"It would be in the best interests of the city, Commander. And it would also protect yours and the Captain's reputations."  
  
"No! I won't do it!"  
  
"It is an order, Commander."  
  
"I won't do it! I can't!" Vimes thumped Vetinari's desk. "I love him, sir! I trust you are capable of understanding that emotion?" An odd, closed expression appeared briefly on the Patrician's face, but it was gone before Vimes could register it.  
  
"I am completely capable, Commander. As you wish, you leave me no choice. You will hand me your badge. You will give up your deeds and your title and you will leave the city. If you are still within the city walls at sunset you will be shot. I'm sure Lady Sybil will understand."  
  
"But. . . but. . ." Vimes' mouth hung open for a moment, until he remembered himself and shut it. He opened it again to say, "You can't do that!"  
  
"I rather think I can. I happen to be the ruler of this city, Commander, not you."  
  
"But. . ."  
  
"It's your choice, captain."  
  
"Give up the man I love or give up my entire life? It's not much of a choice, sir!"  
  
"Nevertheless, Commander, the choice is yours." Vimes removed his hands from Vetinari's desk and slowly and stiffly straightened up. He turned his gaze to the ceiling and blinked hurriedly.  
  
"My choice is made, sir," he said, woodenly.  
  
"Very good, Commander. You may go now. Try and make it easy on the lad, will you?" Vimes strode stiffly from the room, shut the door carefully behind him, and seconds later there was a resounding thump as he hit the wall. Vetinari sighed.  
  
It was a shame that he'd had to offer Vimes such a choice, but if their relationship had been widely known of then all sorts of chaos would ensue. And Vetinari was against chaos, other than the mandatory amount you had to have in a city this size.  
  
Oh, well. It was done now. Commander Vimes was obviously deeply in love with the boy, which was a shame, but better that than having to hound Vimes out of the city. While Vimes loved Carrot, Vetinari *needed* Vimes.  
  
*  
  
Sam Vimes walked out of the Palace stiffly, blinking his eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Once out of sight of the Palace he sank down onto a low wall and groaned. How on Disc was he going to tell Carrot? Hello, darling, I love you but we can't be together anymore?  
  
Shit!  
  
Oh well, nothing for it. Vimes stood up, wiped his eyes and started to head back to Pseudopolis Yard, via The Bucket in Gleam Street. 


	4. 4

Never fear, your favourite author (heh, I'm giving myself airs again!) is back, fresh from her first reading of Nightwatch! And I just had to write more about our Vimesy after that, didn't I? Thanks to: VimesLady, Jinxster, Miss Malice and DrWorm for their reviews of the last chapter (  
  
***  
  
Carrot glanced at the clock, sighed, and tried to immerse himself in the paperwork again. But it was hard; it was nearly twelve, and surely Vimes should have been back by now? Carrot was worried. If Vetinari had done anything to his Sam . . . Carrot blinked and tried to concentrate on the paperwork again.  
  
Five minutes ticked slowly by. Carrot sighed, and pushed back the chair. He couldn't concentrate, not while he was so worried about Sam. He had to go and find him. Carrot got up, rammed his helmet on his head and strode towards the door.  
  
He paused at the door and glanced guiltily back at the paperwork. No, he couldn't go running after Sam, not while there was still work to be done, personal wasn't the same as important after all . . .  
  
Hang on. If the Commander of the Watch was missing, then surely that was important? And surely a capable and reliable officer would have to lead a search party for him? And wasn't he a capable and reliable officer? Carrot smiled and went out of the door.  
  
Colon and Nobby were lounging against the wall, Nobby smoking a foul dog- end. They straightened up as Carrot went past.  
  
"I'm just going out, lads," Carrot announced. "Er . . . Mister Vimes hasn't been in, has he?"  
  
"No, sir, not since this morning," replied Colon.  
  
"You, er, going to look for him, are you, sir?" grinned Nobby. Colon nudged Nobby sharply in the ribs. Carrot stopped and glared at the corporal. Something in Nobby's voice shook him. And coupled with that look . . . Surely they couldn't know?  
  
"No, corporal, I am Going Out on Patrol, which, might I add, is where you should be. I'll be back in an hour and if you're not gone by then you'll be docked five dollars from your wages."  
  
Nobby stared after Carrot as he marched off.  
  
"Bloody hell, Sarge, what's gotten into him?" he muttered, striking a match and relighting his cigarette, which had gone out.  
  
"What did you go and do that for?" retorted Colon.  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"We ain't s'posed to know! What if Mister Vimes finds out we know, eh? He'll go spare!"  
  
"Where is he anyway?"  
  
"Don't go changing the subject! Not one more word about You Know What. Come on, we'd better get out on patrol before Carrot comes back." Colon sighed as he straightened his helmet. "I wonder what His Lordship wanted?"  
  
*  
  
Vimes sat on his own at a table in the Bucket, gripping the neck of a bottle of Jimkin Bearhugger's finest and glaring muzzily at the table. The landlord was watching him worriedly and sporting a black eye, the result of having tried to take Vimes' bottle away from him half an hour earlier. He hadn't wanted to serve Mister Vimes, on pain of having Lady Sybil coming down to Have Words with him, but had decided that getting on the wrong side of Mister Vimes when he was in a bad mood would probably be suicide.  
  
He sighed with relief as the familiar form of Carrot went past the window, and ran to the door.  
  
"Thank goodness you're here, Mr Carrot, sir, it's Mister Vimes, he's drunk, sir!" he shouted.  
  
"Oh, hello Ron . . . you haven't been letting him drink?" Carrot demanded, stepping inside the pub.  
  
"He was, er, very insistent, sir. Seemed quite upset about something, sir."  
  
"Thanks, Ron, I'll take it from here."  
  
Vimes heard Carrot's voice and closed his eyes. No, please, not here, not now . . . he hadn't even worked out what he was going to say!  
  
"Sir?" Vimes shook his head and tried to hold back the tears.  
  
"Go 'way," he mumbled.  
  
"Sir, it's me, Carrot. I'm going to walk you home now, sir," said Carrot, taking hold of Vimes' arm. Vimes shook him off, knocking the bottle to the floor, where it smashed.  
  
"Leave me alone!"  
  
"Come on, Sam . . ." Carrot hauled Vimes up from his seat and half-carried him out of the door. Vimes struggled all the way, and succeeded in kicking Carrot hard enough to make him let go. Carrot stared at Vimes with a hurt look in his eye, and Vimes squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that were threatening to come.  
  
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Carrot, I'm so, so sorry!"  
  
"It's alright, sir, not even a bruise!" said Carrot, in the manically cheerful tones of someone who knows that something is going to go horribly wrong. Vimes shook his head.  
  
"Not that." Vimes turned to go in the direction of home, lurched a couple of steps and fell over. Carrot helped him up, and the two men walked on in silence.  
  
"What did his Lordship want?" asked Carrot, voicing the question that he'd been dreading to ask.  
  
"He knows, Carrot. And he said . . . he said . . ." Vimes choked back a sob. "We can't see each other anymore," he whispered. Carrot stopped dead, his blood running cold as he heard these words.  
  
"No! He can't do that! We won't let him, will we, Sam?" Vimes turned away, his shoulders shaking. "Sam? We won't let him, will we, Sam? Speak to me!"  
  
"I'm sorry," Vimes mumbled. "Sorry. I didn't want this. Sorry." They reached the gate of the Ramkin house, Vimes now openly crying, Carrot deathly pale and shaking.  
  
Vimes leaned on the gatepost, trying to compose himself before going inside. Carrot watched the man he loved walk up his garden path and stop at the doorway, then he swung around and marched stiffly back to Pseudopolis Yard.  
  
"Carrot, I . . ." began Vimes, but too late; Carrot was already out of earshot. Vimes sagged, and opened the front door.  
  
Sybil was just walking through to the Ghastly Pink Drawing Room from the Nursery, as Vimes stepped in. She stopped when she saw the state her husband was in.  
  
"Sam, what . . ?" she began, but stopped as Vimes grabbed her in a tight hug. "What's the matter? Have you been drinking?"  
  
Vimes didn't answer; he just held his wife close as if he was frightened of letting go. Good old Sybil. She was his wife, his rock, and of course he loved her and they would always be together, no matter what would happen . . .  
  
. . . But she wasn't Carrot. Vimes sighed. What the bloody hell was he going to do now? 


End file.
